


The Little Death

by darkstark



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Books, F/M, Nux is obsessed with death, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkstark/pseuds/darkstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nux is haunted by the idea of death. Capable thinks she might have a solution to the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Death

**Author's Note:**

> This came up a bit randomly, and it's mostly the result of me making weird connections in my head. But I hope you enjoy it all the same!

“ _Nux_ ” Capable says and her voice arrests him, firm like metal but also tender and warm like the sun. He can suddenly feel her hands on his wrists too, like a wrench tightening a screw, and he knows she must’ve called his name more than once.

He stops rocking back and forth, lowers his fists from his head. He’s been at it again, and he doesn’t even know how it started. He opens his eyes when he feels her hands releasing him and sees that he’s in Capable’s room - _of course_ he’s in her room and not on the Fury Road. She’s sitting close to him, a few of the things she calls “books” -those things full of stories and secrets- strewn in her lap, a few more in a pile next to her. She’s been choosing what to teach the pups, he knows.

“You were doing it again” she says. Her voice is steady, but her eyes are full of concern. He can’t read the books as well as she does, although she’s teaching him, but he can always read her face right. He can feel his head throbbing from the force of his fists now, he can feel the bit of wire he was holding digging in his skin and something biting in his windpipe although Larry and Barry are not there anymore.

“Oh Nux” she says, voice soft now, and he drags himself closer to her, burying his head in the tangle of her hair, so red and chrome. Sometimes it’s enough, her smell and her warmth are enough to shut it all out, but other times, times like this, the engine of his thoughts is revving louder than her soft words.

“Please tell me what’s wrong” she says, voice still soft, but some of the steel creeping back in the softness (and this is Capable if he had to describe her, she’s softness and hard steel at once, all shiny and chrome).

He tells her, because he can never keep things from Capable, never wants to. He tells her that it’s him, he is wrong, everything about him is wrong. Because he was denied Valhalla not once, not twice, but four times, and he cannot, will not stop thinking about it. He is alive, when he should’ve been dead, and 25 days after he was pulled out of the War Rig, he sleeps with fits and starts, because he may not suffer from night fevers any more, but he dreams of death. He dreams of the sandstorm that took so many War Boys and could’ve taken him too. He dreams of his first denial of Valhalla – how historic it would’ve been if the Bloodbag had not stopped him. He dreams of the second denial, humiliating as it was to be tossed out of the Rig by Joe’s wives. He dreams of the third, the worst of all, because the Immortan witnessed not his death, but his mediocrity. But there was the fourth time, the one he dreams the most about, his dreams always full of fire, the smell of guzzoline in his nose and the roars of Rictus in his ears.

He had thought -because Capable had said it- that perhaps yes, it was not his manifest destiny to go to Valhalla. And in the War Rig, as he was driving without an engine, Rictus holding it with a roar over his head, he thought it must be true. He was not meant to die those first three times, because his manifest destiny was this, to swerve the rig and block the passage, to let Furiosa and Max and the women reach the Citadel safely. And he had thought, as his eyes and ruined mouth asked Capable to witness him, that perhaps he was not meant to be escorted to Valhalla by Joe, now dead, now not a god, but by Capable – perhaps she was his Valkyrie, like the ones he had heard Joe talk of sometimes. And even as he swerved the Rig, he was content in that death, content to die so that she could live, content to finally die truly historic. 

But he did not, and now there isn’t even Larry and Barry or the night fevers to come and take him – he can’t even die soft. And it’s alright, it’s shine that he’s still here, because Capable is here, and he feels better than he has ever felt in his short life. But death is still in his thoughts and dreams – that he should’ve been claimed by it, that he should’ve known what it’s like. Because - because to live is good, but a part of him still thinks that to die and live again is more chrome than to just live.

He says it all fast and jumbled, his words still not enough for his thoughts and his feelings, and Capable listens quietly. He thinks her eyes might start dripping Aqua Cola like they did when he woke up at the Organic Mechanic’s after the Vuvalini patched him up, but in the end they don’t. And Capable says nothing. She kisses his forehead where he punched it, and returns to the stacks she’s making. And for the first time he can’t be sure if he is reading her face correctly.

//

He sees her a few days later, and it’s a surprise because she comes to find him in the garage where he’s working with other black thumbs. She never comes to the garages – Toast is the one that wants to know about the rides. But here she is, wearing a pair of pants much like the ones the War Boys wear, with heavy buckles and many pockets, her goggles perched on the wild fire that is her hair. None of the sisters wears the white wisps the Immortan had given them.

Capable comes straight to him, a warm smile on her lips. She ignores the stares of the other black thumbs and the way they seem to pull closer to her, and he knows it’s because she’s armed to the teeth, she’s always armed unless she’s on the top of the Citadel. Capable is dangerous, Capable is lethal, and that excites Nux in ways he can’t explain.

“I’ve thought about what you said” Capable says quietly, her small hand gentle on his arm, “about death. I think I might have a solution. Come with me”

He wants to ask her what she means, he needs to tell her that he’s not supposed to leave the garage – he needs to work like everyone else until sunset- but her hand is firmer on his arm now as she signals with her head to follow her. And so he does, because he would never say no to her. Her hair shines like a bundle of copper wires in the blaze of the midday sun and it brings a smile on his face when they step out of the shade of the garage. But soon they’re out of the sun again, as Capable leads him to the tunnels under the Citadel. He follows her quietly through the maze, their hands linked loosely. He doesn’t need to know where they go; wherever Capable goes, he goes too.

Finally she stops in a deserted passage, where they can’t hear or see anyone else. There’s faint light, even though they’re underground. Many of the tunnels have holes in their high ceilings, reaching all the way up to the surface and letting the sunlight in. They look like car lights in the dark, Nux thinks.

“I want to try something – with you” Capable says and he can hear the excitement in her voice more than he can see it in the dim light of the tunnel. “But maybe we should sit down”

He does as she says, resting his back on the smooth stone. Capable places her palms on his knees, trying not to put too much pressure to the weak one and she sits opposite to him, but close, very close, between his parted legs. 

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want, if you – if you don’t like it” she says quickly, suddenly sounding more uncertain than excited. He nods hastily, because he knows how important it is to Capable and her sisters to have – what had Furiosa called it? - consent, he thinks it is.

Capable laughs softly then, but it’s a short laugh because she stifles it with a kiss on his lips. It is soft, tender, sweet, it is the reason he thinks this first life, this half-life might be worth something after all, and every time it feels brand new and as shiny as the first time. He kisses her back, trying to be gentle. He’s always too excited, too eager, and though she has told him he doesn’t need to hold back so much, he still prefers to do it just to be safe. It’s better to let her decide things, to let her be the driver.

Capable deepens the kiss, and Nux feels his heart beat faster as her soft tongue touches his and he tastes her, warmer than the sun, sweeter and more addicting than Aqua Cola. He almost whines when she breaks the kiss, but then he feels her soft lips, so soft, so soft, under his jaw, on his neck, on the scars he now has instead of his two mates, and then – he feels her tracing the V8 on his chest with her lips and he feels this warmth surging from within and spreading on his limbs, like Capable has started his ignition.

She trails her kisses back up to his lips and draws herself closer to him. His hands go to her hair, forgetting that his fingers are dirty with grease and oil from the cars, because Capable’s body is warm and is making the heat in his body spread faster. She doesn’t seem to mind his grip, because she moans a little bit as she deepens the kiss again (he has now learned when a moan is good and when it’s bad, though it’s still confusing sometimes). Her hands are cupping his head and he can feel all of her pressed against him, and everything is so chrome and – it’s not just the heat now, there’s a hardness and a sort of pain under his pants, where the Thing is, the thing that Slit used to call a lance or a pole and Nux thought that is only used for men to drain the Aqua Cola from their body, until Capable and the Dag explained what else it can do.

It had started getting hot and hard sometimes when he was kissing and touching with Capable, and she would just tell him that it’s fine and hold him until it would go away, always keeping a distance between her and it. But now she is pressed against him, and he knows she must feel it but only presses herself on him more firmly, the strange, shiny pain increasing with the pressure. 

“I’m- I’m sorry” he mumbles when she suddenly draws away “it’s getting ha-”

“Sh-sh, that’s what we want” Capable says gently, pressing a finger on his lips. She’s sitting between his legs again, and her hands slide from his chest to his stomach, resting over his belt.

“May I touch you there, Nux?” she asks seriously. He doesn’t need to ask where. He nods again, his mouth a little dry, because the truth is he already misses the pressure of her body between his legs.

“If you… If you want” he adds, because that word, _consent_ creeps into his thoughts again.

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m asking” Capable says with a smile that does to him what guzzoline does to a running engine.

She unties his belt with steady hands and slowly draws his pants down, and he can’t help the whine that escapes his throat the moment his hard thing escapes the pants. He hears Capable draw a sharp breath, and a few moments later he feels her hand wrapping around him there, softness on hardness, her skin so soft, so much smoother than his own calloused hands, and suddenly the pain is even more than before, but it’s a good pain, a shiny pain, and, and- he wants more of it somehow. Her hand moves then, down his length and up again, experimentally at first, a little more certain after a few strokes and he’s now all revved up, his blood running fast in his veins like it’s high octane, full-life blood.

“Is this good?” she asks, her breath coming more easily than his, but still a little labored.

“So shiny, so chrome!” he says between his own shallow breaths, resisting the urge to thrust up, to just _fang it_ , because he doesn’t want to scare her, and he doesn’t even know where this urge is coming from or why he had never felt it before.

With his words Capable’s grip becomes a little firmer, her movements reaching a steady rhythm. Blood is pounding in his ears and it sounds to him just like an engine roaring to life. His skin is hot, like the hood of a car after a long chase, but they’re not stopping to let the engine cool off, Capable keeps on, bringing more good pain, sending sparks to his spine, making everything more shiny and chrome than he could imagine. She goes faster just when he thinks that he might go mad, and he’s not afraid of thrusting his hips to come and meet her, he can’t really think about it because he’s so focused on the good pain (good, good, this word he had never needed before and he needs so often now), how to reach it, how to have more of it. A loud groan escapes his throat -he’s been gritting his teeth and he didn’t even notice- because the pain is suddenly too much, too good, the engine inside him is revving so loudly he thinks he might go deaf, his heart is pounding faster than ever, his skin is too tight on his body, and he’s losing focus, everything turns and goes dark and he feels- he feels like this is it, it’s only the chrome spray that’s missing to make it all exactly like a historic death. He has no time to ask Capable to witness him as the pain becomes blinding, searing hot and-

“Nux?”

He opens his eyes, his head still hazy, like when he accidentaly inhales too much guzzoline.

“Glory be, Capable, I _died_ ” he says, and it’s a miracle he can speak because his teeth and his tongue and his lips are all numb. He takes a deep breath as his heart quiets down a bit, but not much because this wild, wild joy is threatening to overtake him – he went through the gates of Valhalla this time, and it was all in Capable’s hands.

“The little death they used to call it in the Old World; Miss Giddy had told me about it. A man can die a million deaths like this and live to die a million more” Capable says quietly, but he can see the smile on her face as she takes a piece of cloth out of a pocket and starts wiping the – oh, the Dag had mentioned that too.

He stays quiet for a bit, his thoughts cramming in his head with no order, strange feelings making his heart swell. He died, but he’s still here - he lives again. And if death is like this, if death in the hands of Capable is like this, a real Valhalla with open gates, then yes, he wants to die again, but also live, he really wants to live so he can have this death, only this, not the other one any more.

“Capable?” he says, his voice coming out steadier than before as he grows calmer. 

“Hmm?” she’s curled against him now, her soft cheek against his shoulder.

“Are men gods?”

“I don’t know. Maybe” she says thoughtfully after a few minutes of silence. “They can die and live again, countless of times… They are creators and destroyers of the world. Perhaps, man is the closest this world has come to a god”

He closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around her warm body and drawing her closer to him. He doesn’t care about gods, not really. He has found what he always wanted – Valhalla, and she’s right in his arms.

“Thank you” he says, and he can feel her lips stretching against his scarred skin, forming a smile.

//

It’s late in the evening a couple of days (and half a dozen little deaths for Nux) later. They are in Capable’s room again, picked to be as far from the Vault as possible. Nux closes his book shut with force, disgusted, and would have actually thrown it to the other side of the room if he didn’t know how much Capable cares about preserving the books. She had warned him not to read it, telling him that it was probably a bit difficult, but he had insisted, telling her that a book called “Chrome Yellow” could only be good and important and –well, chrome. It took him about three very hard to read pages to accept that this book was not chrome at all, talking about smeg people and smeg things. 

He now places it carefully on one of Capable’s stacks though he’s still glaring at it, and redirects his attention to Capable, who is reading too.

“Whatchu readin’?” he asks as he rolls to her side on the pallet and rests his head on her shoulder.

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by William Shakespeare” she says as she turns the page.

“He a War Boy?”

“A War Boy? No, why do you say that?” she asks with a laugh.

“Thought he might be a lancer with a name like that” Nux says uncertainly. 

“His name - oh, shake-spear. Ah, I see” Capable says and laughs again, her eyes still on the book.

He takes a look on the page too, taking his time to let the letters and words come in order in front of his eyes. Capable always tells him not to rush, that it will be easier with time.

“I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell / to die upon the hand I love so well” he reads under his breath, slowly, deliberately.

Capable smiles at him, a praise for his effort.

“What is _thee_? And _heaven_?” Nux asks.

“Thee means you. And heaven… is like Valhalla” Capable explains.

“He wants her to give him the little death?” Nux asks again, his curiosity peaked. This was definitely more interesting than smeg not-Chrome Yellow.

“What? The – the little death? What makes you think that?”

“He wants to die by her hand. And he just mentioned Valhalla – or heaven. It sounds like the little death to me” Nux explains seriously. It makes sense, really.

“I don’t think this is what it’s supposed to mean, besides, those words are said by Helena, not Demetrius-”

“No, it has his name on top-”

“It’s only because he’s leaving the stage, it’s Helena who’s still talking, I know, plays are confusing to-”

“Wait, does this mean that women can die the little death too?” Nux asks, suddenly sitting up.

“Well, yes, of course they can” Capable says with a gentle smile and puts the book aside carefully.

“And you? You can die and live again like I do?” he asks again, his eyes on hers, suddenly bigger, rounder.

“Yes, I think I can die the little death like you do” she says, her cheeks turning fast as red as her hair.

He stays silent for a moment, a strange excitement humming inside him; there are so many questions darting through his mind, so many things he wants -no, needs- to ask, but first, the most important:

“Do you want to?”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I need to apologise for the super lame Shakespeare pun. The Bard must be rolling in his grave. But I love bad puns, and I couldn't resist.  
> Nux's reaction to Chrome Yellow is basically the reaction I had when I read the premise of the book. If anything, Huxley knew how to choose a kickass title. At least Brave New World lived up to the awesomeness of the title.  
> I realise that comparing Capable to a Valkyrie is a little confusing since there was a Vuvalini with that name, but I really like the idea of Capable being Nux's Valkyrie in canon, the one to show him the true way to Valhalla and to a glorious death.


End file.
